There are probably more patterns in our lives than we realize, than we pay attention to. In a moment of quiet, I thought that lately my life might be centered around being dependent on others. Or not.
The realization smacked me in the head - like a V8 commercial – for not realizing, or accepting, sooner that I am officially a member of the sandwich generation. I’m at that age in between caring for an older generation while raising a younger one. This weekend, I was recovering from my daughter’s Sweet 16 and having a conversation with my mother about finding a new home in a senior community. Both ends of my family were moving around me and I was trying not to get dizzy.
While all this is going on, I’m slowly starting to accept my aging self, as manifested by my eyes. I’ve worn glasses since I was a child and I’d much rather wear glasses than contacts (I can’t imagine sticking anything in my eye every day.) But it’s something about needing reading glasses, for more and more reading, that’s a little unsettling. For driving and seeing the preacher way up at the front of the church, that’s one thing. But to pick up a book and be able to read the words, that feels old. Even my computer knows, as ads for reading glasses pop up on my Facebook page and Twitter ad (do they track how many times you hit “zoom” – how does it know?) It could be this bit of denial that’s kept me from getting new glasses, with the excuse that I can’t find anything I like.
Meanwhile, my still-have-things-to-do-self is busy trying to decorate my office. I feel like I’m always saying that. My office used to be the kids’ playroom, so it’s bright yellow with IKEA bookcases and a chalkboard wall. When it was obvious that they were no longer using it to play Barbie’s and LEGOS, I moved in. Since then, it’s been functional, but not really cute. I’ve got a million “pins” of ideas on my “Room of my Own” Pinterest board, but nothing’s happened yet. Then it hit me tonight, as I was pinning a beautiful pink desk – this decorating my own space thing is taking so long because I’ve never really had my own space and funds to do something special. Milk crates in a college dorm doesn’t count. In grad school, I lived alone, but who has decorating money for a rented apartment when you’re still going to school? Soon after, I moved in with my new husband and, well, he’s not so fond of big, bright pink pieces of furniture. It’s a new little bit of independence and I’m stalling.
Maybe I can get a deal on a pink desk and matching glasses. Near a senior community.